‘The bars have …’ Merthian could hardly speak.
‘Arcane means, as I said, Lord Warden,’ intoned the corsair with grim satisfaction. ‘It seems there is something to these old tales, after all; and you have a most powerful mage for your enemy!’
Merthian’s face still showed no emotion. ‘Well, if the signs are so fresh he must still be around here somewhere. Captain! Muster a search, from stone to tower-top—’
‘My Lord Warden! My Lord Warden!’ Kunrad heard Alais catch her breath.
‘Yes, Nanny?’ said Merthian, startled. ‘What’s the matter?’
‘It’s my dear Lady Alais! Her room’s empty, the window open and all’s soaking wet beneath! She’s disappeared!’
Merthian’s face suddenly darkened to the hue of the torchlight, and there was genuine horror in his voice. ‘That sorceror! He’s kidnapped her! Search, damn you all! Find her, find the Lady Alais! Every man jack of you, search!’
The same image appeared in everyone’s mind, even Kunrad’s; though he had to stifle an insane giggle. The girl sitting innocently by the window; the scrawny shape, dripping with weed, clinging inhumanly to the bare face of the tower, and reaching up a clawlike hand …
It seemed that all the imps of the Ice were let loose in the courtyard then, men milling and shouting, women screaming, horses whinnying. ‘The gate!’ roared somebody, starting a rush of guards to shift the wagons, others to the winches. In a moment it would close and shut the fugitives firmly in. It was then Gille had an inspiration, and began to shout, ‘The shore! From the lake! Search the shore!’
His clear voice cut through the confusion, and others took it up, starting a rush out towards the gate. Kunrad shot one glance at the others and they ran to join it, barging and jostling through the narrow tunnel. Suddenly the drawbridge boomed beneath their feet, and the lake wind rushed into their faces. On to the pontoon bridge, its planks rocking beneath so many running treads; water rushed and gurgled at every step. From the wall overhead Merthian’s clear voice carried. ‘Find me them! Slay any intruders you find, but bring back the Lady Alais, whatever the cost! The man who harms her dies by my hand!’
She stopped dead on the bridge a moment, turned back, looking up at the wall. Then Kunrad’s hand jerked her round and she ran on as swiftly as before. He wondered if she was weeping, but in the dull moonlight he could not see.
Across the smaller islands and up on to the shore they ran, soldiers among the rest; but as the others fanned out they took their chance to slip in among the trees. ‘Don’t run!’ gasped Kunrad. ‘Look like the hunters, remember, not the quarry!’ The others nodded, panting, and drew their swords, scouting around for the road. It was there; but soldiers were already lugging fallen trees across it to form a barrier, and shining lanterns on all who passed.
‘Well-trained bunch!’ said Kunrad. ‘We must get past that first cordon somehow. Maybe we could strike over the hill that way, see if we could find a path …’
‘No!’ said Alais, puffing with the effort of keeping up in her heavy mailshirt. ‘There’s none clear enough. But there’s one down yonder, through that stand of tall birches, an old drover’s trail, I think. It goes up beside the streambed there, and northwestward to our first way through the pinewoods, about an hour on foot.’ She giggled softly at the others’ silence. ‘I told you. I played here as a little girl, and rode and walked everywhere. Even when I wasn’t supposed to. It’s just like old times, this!’
‘Somehow I believe you,’ said Kunrad. They were already turning the way she chose, being careful to poke swords into clumps of bushes and peer around suspicious rocks, as if searching. The birches made an excellent landmark in the waning moonlight, and they passed swiftly by other little knots of searchers, who gave them no second glance. They came in among the birches, and saw the stream gleaming below them, emerging from its hillside notch in a series of small pools. The path ran across it, through a narrow ford just beyond the birches. They were passing through these, and had it in sight, when suddenly yellow lantern-light painted their outlines on the pale bark, and a harsh voice commanded them to halt. Six or seven men were trotting up the path, their manner anything but casual.
‘No fooling this lot!’ said Olvar tensely.
‘Keep them guessing!’ said Kunrad, and waved to them, and to the path.
‘Hold you there!’ came the reply. ‘We’ll see to that together – when I’ve got your names and numbers!’
‘And won’t he be surprised!’ said Gille softly. The men were almost on them now, when by bad luck the bouncing light fell full on Alais. In the rush a great lock of her red hair had come free of her mailcap, and was straggling down her temple.
‘Be damned!’ shouted her leader. ‘It’s the princess! Take ’em boys, and watch those bloody wizards!’ He charged on Kunrad, his heavy sword swinging. Kunrad’s met it with a clang, threw the man back. He recovered instantly, slashed at Kunrad’s head, then ducked under the parry to thrust at Kunrad’s stomach. Barely in time Kunrad’s sword came down and stretched him flat on the path. The others, armed with long spears, were less rash, trying to pin the fugitives in while they called for help. Alais slashed out, shattering a spear that jabbed at Kunrad, and sprang forward to wound its wielder in the arm. The soldiers held back, momentarily confused.
‘Go!’ she yelled at the others. ‘Get word to … to him! I’ll hold the way!’
‘Don’t be daft!’ hissed Kunrad. ‘Come on while we still can!’
‘They’ll hunt you!’ she hissed. ‘If you don’t get a start! I’ll be fine, they don’t dare hurt me!’ She sprang out of the trees again, smashed another spear, and the soldiers bunched nervously back. ‘See? And Merthian neither, he needs me! You’ll go faster cross-country without me! Go, fool, or they’ll have us all!’
Lights and torches were coming across the slope, drawn by the noise; and, out on the lake, riders were cantering across the bridge.
‘We can’t leave her!’ protested Gille.
‘Run!’ she screeched at them. ‘Run for your lives, you stupid Nordeney bastards!’
Kunrad looked at the others. His face was as blank as Merthian’s. ‘You heard her ladyship. She’s right. Run!’
CHAPTER EIGHT
A Lord and a Lady
‘YOU SEE ’EM NOW?’ demanded Olvar.
Kunrad, sprawled among berry bushes at the crest of the ridge, looked up from the ruddy pebbles he had been examining, lifting his head as high as he dared on what might be someone’s skyline. Even the Shield-Range behind might not shadow him enough. ‘I’ve not got your eyes, but … yes, I think so. By that big broken redwood, clambering down the far slope?’
‘Slipping down it, you mean. There goes another now, arsy-versy into the thorns! Wouldn’t waste skin that way if they knew about Alais’s path, would they?’
Kunrad frowned, and spilled the pebbles. ‘No. But they’ll still know the lie of the land, probably. That would put them about a day behind us.’
‘Maybe two,’ suggested Gille. ‘They can’t know they’re following anyone. That path we took could have led a dozen ways, and we covered our tracks. They’re just searching. That’ll slow them.’
Kunrad slid down, and sat unhappily, chin on hand. ‘That’s what worries me, boy. Merthian might know!’
Gille ducked down beside him. ‘Hey, surely not! How would he find out … Oh, come, Mastersmith! He wouldn’t hurt her!’
‘Wouldn’t dare!’ added Olvar.
Kunrad sighed. ‘I begin to think that bastard would do anything – anything! – if he felt it was important enough to his great mission. He has some kind of trick of thinking, something truly strange, a kind of dam in the head. All that passes through is the odd trickle of remorse, and he mops that up quick with apologies.’
Olvar laughed quietly. ‘Then he goes right on pissing over the other side, you mean? Could be.’ He plucked a berry off the bush, and chewed it. ‘Not bad. Enough like our hedgeberries so I could risk it. But
some of these bright green things might be all right, too. Wish I knew more Southland fruit.’
‘Better be going,’ grumbled Gille, ‘if you don’t want to be pushing it up. And keep an eye open for more of those fat ground birds. We’ve hardly any dried food left, and no fat to spare after the Marshes – and no woodcraft for these Suderney forests.’
Kunrad heaved himself to his feet, scratching under his mail. ‘Shouldn’t be long now. By Alais’s directions we should hove in sight of the tower tonight or tomorrow morning, and then our problems will be at an end. One way or another.’
‘Nice if we could sight a farm or two along the way,’ sighed Olvar. ‘Farms have chickens, or whatever the poor folk here raise instead.’
‘Lizards, probably,’ suggested Gille.
They had come a long way swiftly since leaving Alais in the wood. Kunrad had had trouble following his own command. More than once on that first slope he had practically to be dragged along because he kept stopping to look back. Olvar said he had seen Alais being set on a horse and led away, but Kunrad couldn’t be sure he was telling the truth – and even if he was, what had awaited her? He knew well enough he could have done nothing more, but it stuck in his throat nonetheless, and he pressed on across country at a killing pace, the more so as he insisted they keep their cumbersome mailshirts. Alais’s scribbled directions had got them through the land around the lake, which she evidently knew better than did Merthian’s men, but out here in the wild land she could do no more than indicate paths and landmarks. And here there were searchers out.
‘But if you’re right, Gille,’ mused Kunrad, as they scrambled down a thin sheep trail to the next ridge, ‘and they are just searching, it can’t be this region alone. Merthian must be combing the whole country around!’
Olvar whistled. ‘That’ll take a mort of his men!’
‘Maybe just the most likely places,’ suggested Gille, then shook his head. ‘No! Not him. We can bring his whole scheme down around his ears. He wants us, badly!’
‘Just what I was thinking,’ said Kunrad grimly. ‘So he’ll have to spread his searchers thinner, and that’s to our advantage. If I read Alais’s words aright, we’ll be among the mountain-roots soon, and into the settled lands again; and we’ll get ahead of them there also!’
So it proved; for beyond the next ridge a valley opened before them, wide green country carved by the mountain rivers and fed by them. In many places among the plain fabric of the trees, wide patchwork fields opened, and orderly orchards still splashed with colour, and on the lower mountain slopes the long yellowish scars of vineyards, in the fertile ashen soil belched up by ancient earthfires. On the far side of the vale the mountains thrust out another spur, its end raised like the head of a sleeping lion; and Kunrad breathed deep satisfaction, for Alais had drawn it as the last of her directions.
‘There! Beyond that, on the far slopes, her father’s castle stands. It will be our landmark among the trees, if only we can get beneath them unseen!’
‘Provided they aren’t already full of trackers!’ snorted Gille.
‘Dunno about that,’ said Olvar soberly. ‘Worst comes to worst, we could always eat one.’
Below them the slope was open and grassy, yellowing already in the early summer sun; but across it a trail ran like the thin trace of an old scar. Where other trails crossed it, the meeting point was marked by man-high stakes, most smeared with something black and greasy. Here and there rocks stood out among the grass, and as they came lower, so the country became stonier, the soil yellower and drier. To Northerners it seemed unnaturally hot; sweat poured down their necks and pooled at the base of their spines till their garments chafed and sagged. Stripping off their mailshirts helped little. Kunrad licked cracking lips, and did his best to think of nothing save the road, the end, the pursuit; but he was as glad as the prentices when eventually they saw a trail cross theirs ahead, leading down from the mountainside above to the valley floor. Hard by the crossroads a stand of gnarly trees promised shade, and beyond them four solid marker stakes stood among a circle of great stones.
‘Might be a spring!’ muttered Gille, and hurried on. A cloud of crows lifted with a startled rush. His wild yell brought the others running. Sweat blurred Kunrad’s eyes as he approached. The stakes bore paint-splashed signboards, and …
He had little warning. The shrivelled forms dangling beneath the boards became suddenly and sickeningly recognisable. He stopped dead and swore, hoarsely. Olvar whistled, but the tone failed. ‘What do those boards say?’ he mumbled anxiously.
Kunrad’s face was as stony as the soil. ‘Vermin,’ he translated the crude characters. ‘Keep out!’
‘But these are people!’ protested Gille, in horrified fascination. ‘Old people – or is it the sun … These bloody sothrans!’ he burst out suddenly. ‘What kind of folk …’
Kunrad shook his head. ‘Look again, boy!’
‘Why … So small … They’re duergar!’ He licked his dry lips and swallowed hard, as if forcing back vomit. ‘All of them – Powers, that one’s a woman. Isn’t it? Strung out like this, and tarred, like rats or something … Scarecrows!’ Then he went even paler than usual. ‘Hey, you don’t think …’
‘No. Not ours. At least I hope not. With the men it’s hard to tell; but she has – had white hair. They’ve all been here a while. And the teeth are worn …’
Olvar looked quickly away from the gaping grin. ‘Take your word for it. Ilmarinen’s arse! Those little buggers – wouldn’t have blamed them if they’d just sunk us in the mire and left us.’
‘They did, practically,’ sighed Kunrad. ‘Not much love lost on either side. But I think they may be a touch more civilised. I feel sick.’
‘Me too,’ said Gille faintly.
‘We can’t just leave ’em!’ protested Olvar. They all followed his gaze, back to the hills.
‘If we’re going to do anything,’ said Kunrad, ‘it had better be damn quick.’ But even as he spoke he was gingerly putting his hands to the nearest pole. It was dug shallowly into the hard red-brown soil, and stayed with stones; they tumbled, and it slowly sagged with its blackened occupant. Olvar toppled the rest, while Kunrad tried to cut the bodies free. Their tarry coating stuck them firmly to the poles, though; and in the end all the Northerners could do was drag them some way up the trail into a little crevice, and pile heavy stones around the end, like a cairn. The crows, balked of their food, circled overhead with protesting squawks. Gille could hardly bring himself to touch the poles; but when all was done he smashed a signboard to finders on the cairn. Kunrad hurled the others away into the brush.
‘There! That’s the best we can do! Now, for the trees, and fast!’
As the cool wood-shadow closed over them at last, they paused, panting, and looked back. Even to Olvar’s eyes there was no sign of any movement on all the barren slopes above. Only the crows still wheeled and croaked.
‘We’re still ahead, then!’ said Kunrad with satisfaction. ‘And our trail will be less easy to follow in here, even for hounds.’
‘What’s hound taste like, I wonder?’ muttered Olvar.
The only dog they heard, though, was the tethered watchdog at one of the valley farms, who got wind of Gille as he went slithering up to the chicken run. By the time a shouting man appeared and loosed it, the Northerners were deep in the woods again and splashing down a small stream. The dog, and the man’s great dung-fork, put some extra spring in their stride.
‘I’m none too proud of this,’ said Kunrad some time later, licking his fingers. ‘These folk aren’t rich. They look poorer than any Northern farmer with so much land.’
‘Chalk it all up to Merthian’s bill,’ suggested Gille, gnawing at a drumstick. ‘Pay ’em back two for one, when he coughs up for the armour.’
Kunrad shook his head. ‘I don’t know. This has all grown a lot larger than the armour now. And yet, yes, I’ve got to have it. That hasn’t changed. You know I still dream about it?’
�
�Wonder if these sothrans live on chicken,’ said Olvar placidly. ‘Couldn’t manage a shoat next time, could you, Gille me lad? What was that, boss – still dreaming about it? Not surprised. Bad grub makes you dream about anything.’
The next time Gille surpassed himself by stealing two loaves and a pie that stood cooling on a windowsill. Kunrad shrivelled with shame; but he also ate his share of pie. ‘Poor people! Hardly richer than the last. Is it this red soil, or what?’
‘Don’t think so,’ said Gille, whose family owned farmland. ‘Good as ours for all I can see, though it’s drier. Must be a long growing season, too. They don’t work it so well; but maybe they’ve no cause to. Maybe any more they grow’d just be taxed.’
‘Ours pay taxes. But I think you’re right.’
‘I’d like to do something for ’em,’ rumbled Olvar.
‘Better they do something for themselves,’ was Kunrad’s immediate response. ‘It’s the only way to learn. The way a baby walks – falling flat on its nose half the time. Still, I know what you mean. I’ll repay them if I humanly can.’
Gille stretched out under a shady linden. ‘You’re doing something for them now. Keeping them from under the corsairs’ thumb. And other bits.’
‘True. And that means we’d best press on, and swiftly. If there is a pursuit, we’re leaving a trail, and one that’ll soon betray our destination. We could be there tomorrow morning, if we don’t laze around under trees. Maybe even late tonight.’
So it was; and great haste they made. They skirted the foot of the tall ridge, and saw more of the dreadful posts around every crossroads on the slopes. The lonelier villages in these parts had guarded palisades, many new-looking, and it became hard to find food. Soon the woods themselves began to thin out, and they found themselves crossing large areas of streams and soft banks, the precursor to marshland. ‘This was the extreme north of the Southlands, and little valued except for pride and as a natural barrier. That could have been guessed from the castle that overlooked it.
The Castle of the Winds Page 28